


Keep Spinning (The Juicy Cherry Tomato Remix)

by northern



Category: Bandom
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northern/pseuds/northern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like he doesn't notice when Bob jerks off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Spinning (The Juicy Cherry Tomato Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [athenejen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenejen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [keep spinning, keep spinning, send us off to sleep](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/1589) by athenejen. 



> Thank you to fictionalaspect for beta.

It's not like he doesn't notice when Bob jerks off.

First it gets really quiet in the other room, but Patrick knows Bob isn't asleep yet, because there are no low, even snores barely audible through the wall. Instead there's silence, and Patrick strains to pick up the slight rustle of clothes, or blankets. He can't quite tell.

He settles back against the big pillows shoved up against the headboard, absently fingering the waistband of his jeans, while he thinks about what Bob is doing. Maybe Bob likes to touch himself first, before he gets down to the actual jerking off. Or it could be that he goes slow first, so slow that Patrick can't hear what he's doing. Patrick himself likes to get some pictures going inside of his head first, before he opens his jeans.

Bob's habits are convenient for him like that. It gives him time to get into it, and it always lasts long enough for Patrick to get off, too. He rubs over his dick, through his jeans, as he thinks about how Bob is maybe doing the same thing. Bob probably has his eyes closed. No, not closed. Patrick decides Bob keeps them half open, and he thinks about how good that would look, Bob with his hand on his dick, eyes half shut, so Patrick could just see the color of his eyes glinting through Bob's eyelashes.

Patrick gets his jeans undone and pushed down, wriggling on the bed until he's comfortable again. He hears some shifting around on the other side of the wall and he listens, holding his dick in his hand, not really doing anything yet. He closes his eyes, straining for any sound indicating Bob has started. He hears some slow, dragging sounds, like maybe Bob is rubbing his arms or his legs against the sheets, and Patrick tries to picture it, make it sexy. It's not hard at all. Bob could be holding his dick, just like Patrick is. He could be waiting until he's turned on enough, or maybe he's just trying to distract himself, trying to make it last longer. Patrick thinks he hears a breath, and the way it makes him tighten his fingers and squeeze almost tricks a sound out of him. He puts his other hand over his mouth, to make sure he doesn't make any noise.

The possibility that Bob might be listening to him as well is exciting and scary in equal measures. Patrick squeezes his eyes shut and moves his hand, setting up a slow rhythm, but not too slow. He doesn't want Bob to finish before him.

That was definitely a hitching breath from the other side of the wall, and then another. Patrick spreads his legs more and takes his hand from his mouth to run his fingertips over the tight skin of his balls. Bob might be doing the same thing. Or maybe he likes a firmer touch? Patrick takes his balls in a careful grip and pulls, gently. He can't help the quiet whine that escapes at the sensation, and he gasps, wondering if Bob heard that.

If Bob is maybe turned on by it. If he's listening.

He hears a barely there groan muffled by the wall, and the spike of excitement makes him up the pace a little with his other hand, the slide pretty smooth now and the sound of skin on skin blatant, obscene. He wonders if Bob can hear it, hear what Patrick's doing, if he knows. It's not something they talk about when they eat together, late nights with takeout in the less-than-clean kitchen.

Patrick holds back the noise of his panting as well as he can, speeding up his strokes, listening and imagining that he can make out the sound of Bob's hand as well. He's pretty sure he can hear the regular harsh breathing that is Bob getting off and getting closer. He risks tugging on his balls again, and this time the sound he makes is even louder, almost a moan. Bob gets louder too, at that, and Patrick keeps his eyes closed, his face burning, rushing toward the end and listening, listening.

There's a steady whisper of sounds blending together from the bed on the other side of the wall, movement and fabric and skin, and Patrick can't pick it all out, but over all of it he can hear Bob's panting breathing and the half-voiced moans of almost there, almost coming.

When Patrick comes he doesn't know if he makes noise or not. He tries not to, but he's always been bad at being completely quiet. Breathing in the sharp smell of his come, his hand slowing, he listens to Bob's cut-off groan that means he's coming, too. He blinks several times, staring up into the space below the ceiling as he rides out the last few muscle convulsions silently. Bob is probably flushed on the other side of the wall. Bob has fair skin, much like Patrick does, so Patrick assumes that he flushes much like Patrick does. He might be wrong, but it's a nice picture to imagine, Bob lying there with his clothes in disarray, still breathing fast, red like Patrick, but still not, because Patrick imagines Bob flushed looks much better than it does on himself. He wonders if Bob caught his come in a tissue, or if it's all over Bob's stomach and hands now, if it's messing up Bob's sheets and clothes. Maybe Bob is swearing to himself under his breath, because he made a wet spot.

Patrick reaches for the tissues on his nightstand, gets two out and wipes the come off his hand and dick, folding it over again to get what got on the hem of his shirt and his stomach. He's still a little sticky when he's finished, but he'll wash his hands soon enough. He hears Bob moving around in the other room and opening his door. Bob must be going to the bathroom. Patrick hurriedly pulls his pants up and throws the wad of paper away, just in case. Then he rolls his eyes at himself. Just in case what? Just in case Bob decides to burst into Patrick's bedroom and say, hey dude, yeah, I noticed we've been listening to each other get off for a couple weeks now, so maybe we should just do it in person?

Right.

Patrick has several projects he could get some work done on before sleep, so he opens the window to air the room out and goes to make himself a couple sandwiches. On his way back to his room, he passes Bob coming out from the bathroom, his hair damp and wavy and sticking out from his pink face. He brings with him the clean smell of the shower gel Patrick bought last weekend.

"You gonna work for a bit?" Bob asks him and drags one hand through his hair. He's wearing sweatpants and a very damp green t-shirt. The heat from the shower is radiating from him.

Patrick takes a step back, getting a firmer grip on his plate of sandwiches and the soda he picked up from the fridge. "Yeah," he says, turning and bumping his elbow into the wall. He winces, but doesn't drop anything. "I got some chord progressions down." He stops in the doorway to his bedroom and looks back. Bob is going in the kitchen. "I took the last bagels, but there's some other bread," Patrick calls after him, to cut off any possible disappointment.

Bob makes an affirmative noise, disappearing around the corner.

Patrick closes the door behind him and puts his plate down. He takes a long drink. He's feeling pretty energized, like he might lay down some bare-bones drum tracks Andy can work with. He picks up a sandwich and bites into it, savoring the taste of the ripe cherry tomato, while he boots up his computer.


End file.
